Firewall (The Firewall Spies Book 1)
Page 14
He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. In . . . and out. Focus. Concentration. In . . . and out. The music soothed him. The steady breathing lowered his heartrate, calming his mind. The session lasted forty-five minutes, after which his watch vibrated once on his wrist, and he immediately heard a knock on his door. Everything timed to perfection.
A brunette woman in black yoga pants and a Nike workout top entered. One of several personal trainers. She greeted him and then began to gently place his body into different stretching positions, moving each limb to its limit and through a full range of motion for the next fifteen minutes. They barely spoke, other than her commands. That was the way he preferred it to be. Efficient. Clean. Professional.
While the stretching went on, Kim’s mind raced, thinking through problems and strategies.
“We’re all finished, Mr. Kim,” the woman said.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like me to send in your masseuse this morning?”
“Not today, thank you.”
“Very well, have a good day.”
She left, and the housekeeper, who had been waiting outside, knocked on the door.
“Enter.”
She peeked her head around the pale wooden door. “Where would you like your breakfast, sir?”
“By the pool, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Kim.”
He waited for her to leave, then headed into his walk-in shower, tucked away behind a wall in the meditation room. Another skylight here, towering above. Rays of bright sun cast onto the glossy wooden shower area. Multiple side- and top-mounted nozzles sprayed hot water onto his body, with a waterfall shower above, sunlight shining through the droplets as they made their way down. Kim toweled off and changed into a clean pair of clothes, which had been laid out by his housekeeper early that morning.
Moments later he sat at the table by the pool, breakfast now laid out over the tablecloth. A French press coffee pot, fresh granola and yogurt, fresh fruit, toast, and eggs. Fresh-squeezed orange juice rested in a small glass with ice.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Ava said, walking out from his home and onto the lawn, her hair still damp from a recent shower.
Kim rose from his seat, pulling out a chair for her.
“Thank you.”
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Ava said, and Kim poured her a cup.
“You left early last night.”
Ava sipped her coffee. “Jeff.”
He scraped food onto his plate and took a bite. “I was surprised. That’s all.”
Ava shot him a look. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“Ava, I understand you had a relationship with him in the past. But the man is here to evaluate our company. His opinion will have an enormous impact on how billions of dollars of financing flow.”
“Yes, but that’s not why you are concerned.” Her lips were pressed together.
Kim placed his fork down on his plate and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I respect your decision to not change the nature of our relationship.”
“Then relax. This is a big moment for you and for our company. That’s where our focus needs to be.”
“I agree.”
Ava said, “And anything else is a distraction.”
Kim said, “Did you hear about Pace?”
“I heard he toasted Kozlov and was talking too freely.”
Kim nodded. “Sheryl Hawkinson was there.”
“I saw.”
“I think she smells blood in the water.”
“What did she say?”
“She has heard rumors.”
“Of?”
Kim’s gaze shifted into the distance. “She told me there is a broker who has reached out to her. This broker represents Trinity—the same group that took responsibility for Kozlov’s murder. Trinity claims to have obtained some of our intellectual property, and they are now shopping around for buyers.”
Ava covered her mouth. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
“I don’t know. But people I distrust often tell me the truth, if it suits them.” He looked at Ava, who didn’t blink.
Ava said, “What did they take?”
“They are trying to sell our weather-prediction algorithm.”
“That’s worth billions.” Ava clenched her fists on the table. “If it’s true, how did it happen? Have we checked—”
Kim poured himself some coffee. “Miller audited our system after Kozlov’s death.”
“You told me he didn’t find anything suspicious.”
“He looked again, last night, after I spoke with Sheryl and I told Miller what to look for. There was evidence of a fourth-floor data breach. Someone was able to steal parts of our weather-prediction algorithm.”
“Oh shit . . .”
Kim flexed his jaw, breathing out of his nose. “Sometimes it feels like the whole world is against us. Everyone trying to either get their hands on our IP or destroy us before we’re even off the ground. I just don’t know who I can trust anymore.”
Ava’s hand gripped his forearm. Her skin felt smooth to the touch. “You have me.”
“Someone inside our company has betrayed us,” he said.
“Who do you think it is?”
“I’m working on it. But I suspect Kozlov was somehow involved.”
She removed her hand. “Has Miller told the FBI yet? About the data breach?”
Kim shook his head. “I asked him not to. We’ll investigate it ourselves.”
Ava looked surprised. “Is that allowed? I mean . . . legally, are we not obligated to inform the authorities?”
Kim looked her in the eyes. “Authorities? The world is changing, Ava. We are at the end of an era. Governments will be too slow to adapt. The days of rendering to Caesar are coming to an end.”
“You’re going to keep this from the US government? Won’t that jeopardize our DOD contracts at The Facility?”
“It’s a short-term risk,” Kim said. “But everything is a risk. We are weeks away from getting funding approved that will give us a significant advantage. Our investors are spooked after the Kozlov incident, and we need to reassure them.”
Ava said, “I understand our investors want more information on the fourth-floor projects. We could allow Colt McShane access. He’s been asking for it.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Yes.”
Kim nodded. “Then I’ll allow it. But we must do more. Our investors waver, and our competitors attack us, not because we’re being secretive. It’s because they do not respect us.”
“What do you want to do?”
“We need to make a bold statement. A show of strength. A product announcement and demonstration. It is time for us to reveal some of our secrets.”
17
Colt woke up early, downing two Advil with a glass of water, an attempt to stave off his blossoming headache. He ran for thirty minutes on one of the treadmills in the hotel gym, followed by calisthenics, doing his best to sweat out the previous night’s alcohol intake.
He showered, shaved, and ate a granola bar during the taxi ride across town. The car dropped him off several blocks away from his true destination. He conducted a thirty-minute SDR before heading to the tech counterintelligence team’s clandestine operations center. On the way, he opened his mobile phone and accessed the scrambler app that would protect him from electronic surveillance. The app made him appear on the move, blocks away from his actual location, using distant cellphone towers until he was finished with his clandestine movement.
As he approached the tech counterintelligence unit’s safehouse, Weng saw him on the security cameras and beeped him in. Only she and Jennifer Sims were there on a Saturday morning.
“Morning, Romeo,” Heather Weng said as he entered. “Enjoy your evening of sushi and cocktails?” Sims smiled from her seat, removing a teabag from her cup.
“I did, actually,” Colt said. “Where’s the SANDSTONE message?”
M: Meet Sunday @ 8:30 a.m. in SF. You send location.
Colt said, “We add three hours onto all of our communicated times. The meet will be Sunday at 11:30 a.m.”
Weng nodded, unsurprised. It was a common procedure in clandestine operations, meant to throw off any adversaries who might intercept the message.
Sims said, “I’ll let Rinaldi and Wilcox know. They have a few meeting spots picked out.”
Colt shook his head. “I’ll select something.”
Weng said, “Ed is growing more concerned that SANDSTONE could be a dangle. They want me to go with you in case something goes wrong.”
“She’s not a dangle.”
“A triple-agent, then.”
Colt nodded. “She’s not a triple-agent. And Ed should know better than to suggest it. Besides, the SVR isn’t going to use one of their US-based officers like that. It would be too obvious. And if SANDSTONE were really loyal to the Russians, why would the Russians feed us Kozlov? It doesn’t make sense that they would kill off a source as valuable as him.”
“That was my argument. The Kozlov angle. I said that to Wilcox,” said Weng.
“What’d he say?”
“That Russians sometimes do weird things.”
Colt scowled. “That answer seems woefully inadequate. What’s the concern here? That I’m walking into a trap?”
Weng nodded. “Maybe. Or that SANDSTONE is just continuing to provide us with disinformation.”
Sims said, “Maybe Kozlov wasn’t working out, so the Russians decided the Seattle job was a way to dump him while convincing you SANDSTONE is loyal to us?”
Colt bounced his knee, thinking it through. “What’s the first question a case officer asks a prospective agent?”
Weng said, “You ask him if he knows of any penetrations in your service.”
Colt nodded.
Weng said, “So . . . SANDSTONE has given up other SVR officers. Is that what you’re implying?”
Colt played coy. “You’ll have to ask Ed. But all I know is if she’s been lying this whole time, she’s got a lot of help, and deserves an Academy Award.”
Weng smirked. “I’m sure you’ve had women lie to you before without knowing it.”
Sims said, “Now, now, Heather.”
Weng said, “All kidding aside, SVR officers are carefully tested for their allegiance to the cause before they are placed in the field. And they decided to send SANDSTONE to the US—that’s the big leagues. Which means she is one of their most skilled officers, and they vetted her more thoroughly than others. We have to assume there is at least the possibility she’s actually loyal to the SVR.”
Colt shook his head. “I’m telling you, the intelligence she’s been giving us has been quite good.”
Weng said, “The SVR has been known to create quite good chicken feed.”
Weng was suggesting SANDSTONE could have been providing the Americans with real intelligence, but that it wasn’t all that damaging to the Russian Federation. And the delivery of that information had been okayed by Marisha’s SVR superiors, meant to establish her bona fides to the Americans.
Colt said, “I’ll concede that anything is possible. But my instincts tell me she’s not a triple-agent. SANDSTONE is rare, but genuine.”
Weng said, “Well, it won’t hurt for you to have me at the meeting for backup.”
“Just make sure to get black before you show up.”
Weng arched one eyebrow. “If I can run agents in denied areas in China, I think it’s safe to say I won’t screw up your op.”
“Fair enough.” Colt didn’t mind Weng’s questions. It was healthy to be skeptical, and she made good points.
Weng said, “Now, you got a few minutes to debrief us on last night?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Colt grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge and began to tell them everything he had seen and heard the previous evening. He shared Pace’s comments about Kozlov, which Weng discounted as the ravings of a drunk, but promised to inform the team; Sheryl Hawkinson’s conversation with Jeff Kim and her introduction to Colt, which they both found intriguing; and his evening alone with Ava Klein, with enough detail that Weng looked skeptical.
“That’s it? You just left her hanging by the door? No under-the-covers agent handling?”
Colt gave her a look. “Moscow Rules. Don’t fall in love with your agent.”
Weng said, “What ever happened to James Bond rules? Don’t be boring, I need this. I live vicariously through you while trapped in here.”
Sims just shook her head, smiling.
Colt saw a text message notification pop up on his phone. He read the message and whistled.
Weng said, “What’s up?”
Colt smiled and stood to leave. “Looks like Pax AI just granted me fourth-floor access. Effective immediately.”
“Wilcox will be happy.” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at his screen. “Can I see your phone for a minute?”
Colt handed it to her. “Sure.”
Weng said, “You’re using an out-of-date scrambler security app.” She was referring to the CIA-recommended app on his phone that helped keep him clear of electronic surveillance. “Who told you to use this one?”
“Ed. A while ago.”
She frowned. “He should know better. He should have had you upgrade it to this one.” She showed him her phone and pointed to an icon on the screen. May I?”
“Be my guest.”
Weng brought his phone over to one of the classified CIA computers and connected it, downloading the app and setting it up for use. “It’s the same procedure, just without the security flaws.”
Colt didn’t like the thought that he’d been using an out-of-date technique for something so vital to spy craft nowadays. “Thanks. I guess Wilcox and I don’t get to meet that often, so . . .”
She waved away the comment, changing the subject. “When will you actually get inside their fourth floor?”
“I’ll go today. Now.”
Sims said, “He should take the box.”
Weng nodded, rising and heading toward the back room. “Wilcox was supposed to train you on it, but I can give you a quick rundown.” She came back with a black leather wallet. “For all your years of dedicated loyalty, the CIA’s Office of Technical Service presents you with this unmarked, empty black wallet.”
Colt examined the wallet.
Weng said, “You’ll need to put your ID and some cash in there to make it look legit. It’ll pass a metal detector and airport scanner. We’ve reviewed the security procedures at Pax AI and are ninety percent confident you should be able to get it onto the fourth floor. But . . . if a security guard starts taking the wallet apart, you might be in trouble.”
Colt raised his eyebrows. “Do I have to do anything to activate it?”
“No. It’s got GPS and knows its location. Forty-eight hours of battery life. And it is pre-programmed to go emission dark during any security scan windows. When you go through security, it’ll look just like a wallet to their scanners. Once you’re on the fourth floor, it will turn on and start doing its thing. Oh, and don’t lose it. Thing costs more than a Ferrari, not to mention it’s got some tech that China and Russia would love to get their hands on.”
Colt looked at the wallet and then back at Weng. “I think I heard you say ninety percent confident?”
She winked. “Relax, you’ll be fine. Maybe pick up some flowers for your future agent on the way? Or some really sexy lingerie?”
“Those techniques worked for you before?”
“As a woman? Or as a case officer making a recruitment?”
“Both.”
Sims said, “You can’t go wrong getting a woman flowers.”
Weng cocked her head, thinking. “Honestly, the best way to impress me is to feed me. I l
ove to eat. And I’m much more of a sweatpants kind of girl. You know, now that you mention it, those two things may be related.”
Colt laughed and bid the two women farewell.
He took the Muni bus to the stop nearest the Pax AI headquarters building. When he arrived, he flashed his badge to the woman behind the front desk and nodded to the security guards, who watched him go through the ground-floor metal detectors before proceeding further. So far so good with the wallet.
He had expected the Pax AI office to be empty since it was a weekend. But as he walked up the stairs, he heard voices echoing from above and saw what looked like the entire leadership team making their way through the fourth-floor security entrance. The security guard took each person’s ID, running them through biometric scanners, and then the sliding glass door whooshed open as they entered one at a time. By the time Colt arrived at the top, Ava, Nader, Pace, and a few others had all gone in without seeing him. Jeff Kim was the only one still waiting.
Kim spotted Colt and smiled. “Well, that was quick. When did you get access, one hour ago?”
“I couldn’t wait until Monday.” Colt grinned.
Kim nodded like he understood, regained his ID from the security guard, and then walked forward into the open doorway. The fourth-floor doors slid shut behind him, and the security guard gestured for Colt to come forward.
“First time up here?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thumbprint here. We’ll scan your right eye for next time. And I’ll need your ID. Any phones or electronic devices must stay out here with me.” The security man raised one eyebrow. “And if you forget anything, this doorway leads to a body scan machine that will help you remember.”
Colt handed the man his phone, praying that the CIA’s techs knew what they were doing with the James Bond wallet in his back pocket.
The guard nodded for Colt to proceed, and he walked forward into the chamber. The door closed behind him, and he heard a voice say, “Hands above your head during the scan, please,” followed by the sound of a rapid mechanical sliding motion from above. Then the door in front of Colt opened with a whoosh to reveal another guard waiting behind a standing desk, beckoning Colt forward.